The Sphinx of sophomore year

Marcus stood outside Tyler's house, heart doing gymnastics. His first real party. The invite said 8 PM. It was 7:58 and he'd already changed outfits three times. Final choice: vintage band tee, dark jeans, carefully scuffed Vans. Look effortless. Don't try too hard.

Inside, the bass thumped like a second pulse. People everywhere, red cups in hand, laughing like they'd known each other forever. Marcus grabbed a soda, leaned against the wall. Casual. Cool. Totally not having a panic attack.

Then he saw her. Riley. The sphinx of sophomore year. She sat on the couch, surrounded by people but somehow alone, wearing that expression she always had—partly amused, mostly judging everything. Rumor was she'd turned down three date invites this week alone. Marcus had been crushing since August, which was pathetic because they'd never actually spoken.

"Hey." She appeared beside him, materializing like she'd teleported. Up close, her eyes were ridiculous. "You're Marcus, right? Trig class?"

"Yeah. Hey."

"You look like you're solving an equation in your head."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Goldfish," he blurted. "Their memory span. Is it actually three seconds, or is that—what are we talking about?"

Riley laughed. Actual laughed. Not that fake polite thing. "Okay, goldfish guy. Come outside."

They ended up on the back porch, sitting on the swing set like actual children. The air was cool, distant music muffled.

"My dad got me this goldfish last year," Marcus said, surprising himself. "Named it Bear. Because it had these angry eyebrows. Died in like, two weeks. I cried and my mom took pictures. Blackmail material."

"That's devastatingly sad," Riley said. "In a cute way."

"My dog stepped on its grave the next day. Like, specifically that spot. I think it was a hit."

She laughed again, softer this time. Shoulders touching. Something clicked.

"You know what you are?" she said. "You're a sphinx."

"A what?"

"A sphinx. All mysterious, then you say something weird about fish assassins."

"I'm not mysterious."

"You are. I've been watching you in Trig. You always sit in the back, never talk, but you get everything right. It's intriguing."

Marcus's brain short-circuited. "You've been watching me?"

"Don't make it weird."

"Too late."

"Good." She smiled, and it was different from her usual expression. Softer. Real. "Hey, goldfish guy?"

"Yeah?"

"Text me sometime. If you want. About fish conspiracies. Or whatever."

Inside, someone yelled something about beer pong. They stayed on the swing, knees touching, not moving. The sphinx had riddled him, and somehow, he'd won.